L.J. Smith - Dark Visions: The Strange Power; The Possessed; The Passion

FOR MORE TALES FROM THE DARKNESS
BY L.J. SMITH, DONT MISS:

Night World 1:
Secret Vampire,Daughters of Darkness ,Spellbinder

Night World 2:
Dark Angel,The Chosen ,Soulmate

Night World 3:
Huntress, Black Dawn, Witchlight

AND COMING SOON:

Night World:
Strange Fate

T HE S TRANGE P OWER
T HE P OSSESSED
T HE P ASSION

L.J. SMITH

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

SIMON PULSE

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This Simon Pulse paperback edition September 2009

The Strange Power copyright 1994 by Lisa J. Smith

The Possessed copyright 1995 by Lisa J. Smith

The Passion copyright 1995 by Lisa J. Smith

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

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Designed by Mike Rosamilia

The text of this book was set in Adobe Garamond.

Manufactured in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Library of Congress Control Number 2008943706

ISBN 978-1-4169-8956-1

eISBN 978-1-4169-9666-8

These titles were originally published individually.

For Max,
who brought sunshine

You dont invite the local witch to parties. No matter how beautiful she is. That was the basic problem.

I dont care, Kaitlyn thought. I dont need anyone. She was sitting in history class, listening to Marcy Huang and Pam Sasseen plan a party for that weekend. She couldnt help but hear them: Mr. Flynns gentle, apologetic voice was no competition for their excited whispers. Kait was listening, pretending not to listen, and fiercely wishing she could get away. She couldnt, so she doodled on the blue-lined page of her history notebook.

She was full of contradictory feelings. She hated Pam and Marcy, and wanted them to die, or at least to have some gory accident that left them utterly broken and defeated and miserable. At the same time there was a terrible longing inside her. If they would only let her init wasnt as if she insisted on being the most popular, the most admired, girl at school. Shed settle for a place in the group that was securely her own. They could shake their heads and say, Oh, that Kaitlynshes odd, but what would we do without her? And that would be fine, as long as she was a part.

But it wouldnt happen, ever. Marcy would never think of inviting Kaitlyn to her party because she wouldnt think of doing something that had never been done before. No one ever invited the witch; no one thought that Kaitlyn, the lovely, spooky girl with the strange eyes, would want to go.

And I dont care, Kaitlyn thought, her reflections coming around full circle. This is my last year. One semester to go. After that, Im out of high school and I hope I never see anyone from this place again.

But that was the other problem, of course. In a little town like Thoroughfare she was bound to see them, and their parents, every day for the next year. And the year after that, and the year after that....

There was no escape. If she could have gone away to college, it might have been different. But shed screwed up her art scholarship... and anyway, there was her father. He needed herand there wasnt any money. Dad needed her. It was junior college or nothing.

The years stretched out in front of Kaitlyn, bleak as the Ohio winter outside the window, filled with endless cold classrooms. Endless sitting and listening to girls planning parties that she wasnt invited to. Endless exclusion. Endless aching and wishing that she were a witch so she could put the most hideous, painful, debilitating curse on all of them.

All the while she was thinking, she was doodling. Or rather her hand was doodlingher brain didnt seem to be involved at all. Now she looked down and for the first time saw what shed drawn.

A spiderweb.

But what was strange was what was underneath the web, so close it was almost touching. A pair of eyes.

Wide, round, heavy-lashed eyes. Bambi eyes. The eyes of a child.

As Kaitlyn stared at it, she suddenly felt dizzy, as if she were falling. As if the picture were opening to let her in. It was a horrible sensationand a familiar one. It happened every time she drew one of those pictures, the kind they called her a witch for.

The kind that came true.

She pulled herself back with a jerk. There was a sick, sinking feeling inside her.

Oh, please, no, she thought. Not todayand not here, not at school. Its just a doodle; it doesnt mean anything.

Please let it be just a doodle.

But she could feel her body bracing, ignoring her mind, going ice-cold in order to meet what was coming.

A child. Shed drawn a childs eyes, so some child was in danger.

But what child? Staring at the space under the eyes, Kait felt a tugging, almost a twitch, in her hand. Her fingers telling her the shape that needed to go there. Little half circle, with smaller curves at the edges. A snub nose. Large circle, filled in solid. A mouth, open in fear or surprise or pain. Big curve to indicate a round chin.

A series of long wriggles for hairand then the itch, the urge, the need in Kaits hand ebbed away.

She let out her breath.

That was all. The child in the picture must be a girl, with all that hair. Wavy hair. A pretty little girl with wavy hair and a spiderweb on top of her face.

Something was going to happen, involving a child and a spider. But whereand to what child? And when?

Today? Next week? Next year?

It wasnt enough.

It never was. That was the most terrible part of Kaitlyns terrible gift. Her drawings were always accuratethey always, always came true. She always ended up seeing in real life what shed drawn on paper.

But not in time.

Right now, what could she do? Run through town with a megaphone telling all kids to beware of spiders? Go down to the elementary school looking for girls with wavy hair?

Even if she tried to tell them, theyd run away from her. As if Kaitlyn brought on the things she drew. As if she made them happen instead of just predicting them.

The lines of the picture were getting crooked. Kaitlyn blinked to straighten them. The one thing she wouldnt do was crybecause Kaitlyn never cried.

Never. Not once, not since her mother had died when Kait was eight. Since then, Kait had learned how to make the tears go inside.

There was a disturbance at the front of the room. Mr. Flynns voice, usually so soft and melodious that students could comfortably go to sleep to it, had stopped.